


The life that cuts the cold

by gloss



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bounty Hunters, F/F, Implied/Referenced Character Death, References to Canon M/F relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-25 13:22:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6196636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Rebellion lost on Endor; Shara and Leia have been on the run ever since.</p>
<p>For <a href="http://femslashbb.livejournal.com/12935.html?thread=175239#t175239">this prompt</a> in #kissyourgirl</p>
            </blockquote>





	The life that cuts the cold

**Author's Note:**

> All the f/f spacefaring bounty hunter AUs please.
> 
> Title from Mazzy Star, "[Into Dust](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r0Utkr8LSdc)"
> 
>  
> 
> vague references to TFA tie-in materials (where Shara is found), but since this goes AU just before any of them, I'm not sure if they're quite spoilers. 

When the bounty propagates over the holonet -- 200,000 credits for the Alderaanian royal traitor, *preferably* (though not required) alive -- they are deep in the Outer Rim, on a poorly terraformed moon called Dihn. 

"Honestly, I'm surprised they took this long," Leia says, shaking her head, laughing as she kills the holo feed. The feed projector is as unpredictable as everything else aboard this ship, however, so an afterimage hovers a little too long, pale and distorted, before crumpling away: Leia's face, much rounder, so much younger, hair done up in ridiculous braids.

Shara can't share Leia's amusement. She replaces the motivator panel, makes sure it's snug and aligned, before she says, carefully, "It's only going to make things worse."

Leia perches on the arm rest of the pilot's seat, arm going around Shara's waist and cheek pressing into Shara's shoulder.

"It's already worse," she says, quietly and firmly. "Has been for a long time."

Shara presses her mouth against the crown of Leia's skull, just for a moment, before leaning forward again to fiddle with the power transfers.

They just captured a rogue tax collector who made off with the harvest tariffs of half the system. Once they deliver him to the municipal authorities, the bounty on him should cover the most immediately-pressing repairs. Their ship needs motivator bolts and O2 hosing. It also needs a complete overhaul. Or junking.

The problem, of course, is how to deliver him when the ship can barely keep itself aloft.

"You can fix it," Leia says. "You always do."

Shara shakes her head. "Reached the limits of my competence a few jobs ago. Now I'm just patching what I can."

"What about this?" Leia pulls one leg up to her chest and circles it with her arms and plants her chin on her knee. "We contact the municipality, get them to come pick up Klar and, hey, maybe they can bring along some...parts? What parts do you need?"

"A new light freighter would be nice, fresh off the yard," Shara says, "even a modded-out starfighter."

"Seriously, though --" Leia shakes her head fondly. They cut her hair in the last big port, cropping it close all around her face and lightening it, so now more than ever she looks like a pair of big brown eyes rising out of dawn light. 

It also has the unfortunate effect of making her resemble her brother much more than she once did, but only Shara and Leia know that. To everyone else, she's simply a small human female named Breha.

Shara misses all of Leia's hair, how it hung like soft boreal curtains over her face when they kissed, Leia on top, hips moving slow and musical against Shara's lap. She misses the *weight* of it in her hands, how there was so much that Leia's head could be bowed back, her throat exposed, soft skin for tongue and teeth.

But the new hair -- "Skywalker Chic," Leia calls it, though Shara can't bring herself to make the joke -- has its own charms. From behind, Leia looks like a youngling, indeterminate but graceful gender. It's so light and soft to the touch that Shara can rake her fingers through it for hours on end, Leia between her thighs, mouth working, moans rising, running through Shara.

Shara gives her the list, ranked by priority. She learned fairly quickly to go with Leia's instincts when it comes to strategy. They aren't always unerring, but they're right far more often than not.

Shara's word goes for everything ship-related, from repairs to flight, but Leia handles people, the contracts and payments. She chooses the jobs they take; Shara makes sure they get there, then acts as muscle. Leia is muscle, too, but finer stuff, more surprisingly strong.

"But I can't fly," she told Shara that first hectic morning during the evacuation from Endor. There was no rendezvous point, nowhere to go except _away_ , away from the slaughter on the surface and the growing darkness above. And still they, those who had managed to survive, skittered around like crazed insects, lost and yearning, driven by fear into endless loops.

Shara had been looking all night for Kes; she knew, simple as her hands know how to hold the controls, that he was dead, just like the rest of the Pathfinders, Solo and the rest. But she kept looking, convinced that if she stopped, then _that_ would be what killed him.

She found, instead, the princess-general standing in the smoldering forest, holding a starfighter helmet out to her. "Shara Bey, I need your help. I can do a lot of things, but I can't fly."

That particular talent of Leia's family did not manifest in her. And Shara is glad of it, deeply glad. She can still do something, now, nearly three years later. She can fly. She can serve, though Leia hates that word.

When Leia returns from the holo-cafe, she has 50% of the municipal bounty already deposited into their account, an inventory list of the refurbished parts to be delivered tomorrow, and two cartons of hot, fresh food.

They haven't eaten anything besides freeze-dried rations and reconstituted slurries for nearly a month. The rich scent of the vegetables and grains in the carton make Shara's stomach clench and her eyes water.

"Take it slow," Leia says, smiling through the steam rising from her own carton.

In the cargo hold, their bounty is awake and yelling again. Shara pulls the door half-closed, which helps a little. 

"When have I *ever* done that?" she asks.

Leia shrugs one shoulder and slides down the poorly-upholstered banquette to draw up snug and warm against Shara's side. "It's important to be ready for anything, don't you think?"

"Indeed," Shara replies. She's getting full, much sooner than she'd like, and the hot food is making her a little sweaty. She doesn't like feeling so discomfited and disheveled, though Leia has, of course, seen her in much worse states.

Leia's still peering up at her. Sometimes, like now, at certain angles, she looks _so_ young that it's nearly unbelievable. At the same time, she was never young, never anything but a symbol and a leader and the will.

Shara kisses her forehead, then the tip of her nose, as Leia's hands go around her neck, loop there and hold on, fingers tangling in Shara's hair. She murmurs into the kiss, then more loudly when Shara's palms slip down her sides to curve over Leia's breasts. The fabric of her jersey catches on Shara's calluses, drags and hitches, and Leia moans lightly.

There are some things, _important things_ , that Shara will never understand. How Leia knew her name that morning. How Leia made a plan to escape and survive while everything around them fell apart. How Leia goes on, and on, from planetocide to the Rebellion's defeat, the loss of Solo, the rise of her brother as the new emperor.

Shara has asked, and Leia hasn't been able to answer.

But Shara has never, not once, wondered why she's here. She's here because they need each other. They need to fly and run and fight; neither one of them will ever be able to stop.


End file.
